


ghost

by aMassiveDisappointment (BadOldWest)



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: F/M, Haunting, Smut, death superstitions, this is supposed to be trippy btw, weird supernatural (but also not??) shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 21:10:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11929335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadOldWest/pseuds/aMassiveDisappointment
Summary: Cassian Andor has been dead for six months. There is some slight evidence to the contrary.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS INTENTIONALLY VAGUE AND WEIRD AND I'M SURE ALL OF YOUR QUESTIONS ARE VALID.

B.

Cassian Andor has been dead for six months. 

Bodhi still can’t say his name, because if Jyn hears it, she doubles over like she’s been punched. He’s heard her cry so hard her sobs turn into coughs. He avoids all mention of the Captain in her presence, but that’s not why he avoids saying the name out loud when she’s not around.

A rebellion military funeral is a bleak one, the bodies are expected to be shipped back home, but Cassian has no one in a home that is not base on Yavin IV and no body that was retrieved to send. Jyn is given a wreath of flowers and what they have to bury -nothing- is lowered in sentiment in a hole that Bodhi, Chirrut, Baze and K2 have dug for her to stand beside. 

No one knows what to say. Jyn is shattered from grief, her eyes the color of the line in the surface of cracked glass. 

Bodhi is slightly relieved that no one says anything. 

There are superstitions about the dead on Jedha, where he was raised. 

That ghosts can only listen. And they linger too close when they know they’re being talked about.

If he says Cassian’s name, it may call him back. 

 

J.

He used to wake her up with early-morning scratches from his beard. 

He’d rub his stubble along her bare skin, tougher than most women’s after a hard, short lifetime, and it would prompt a little shiver. Kisses on the wings of her shoulder blades, then a sharp swipe of his jaw along the curve where the bone stretched from underneath her skin. She would elbow back at him, laughing or whining, and he would chuckle against her neck, a  _ scritch scritch _ sound as he buried his face there, a soft hand around her stomach. 

She never thought about the happiness she felt in those moments until they would never happen again. The feeling of it, how he would marvel that he’d usually had to apologize for causing that sensation on a person, and instead she just wanted more.

She liked his scratches. 

 

C.

There is a cloud of consciousness, it rains out all of its substance until it’s just air. It’s nothing but air.

There's an ache to the silence; like a too-clear morning, the hesitation before birdsong he had learned to take as a sign something was very wrong.

_ You are never to see her again, _ he is informed.  _ Cassian Andor is dead.  _

He replies like he always did; asserting his loyalty. 

He can feel the drops slip out of himself as he dissolves. 

But it’s nearly impossible to extinguish the voice inside him;

_ I’d like to see you try and stop me.  _

 

B.

Bodhi tries to watch the process of grief with patience. 

He’d have more of it if Jyn would act like what was wrong  _ was wrong, _ instead, she soldiered on; quite literally at that. And that kind of carelessness could call him back. 

He catches her doing headcounts for returning squadrons. That he may be with them. Like he's still alive. 

Hope is enough to drag a soul from the grave, and that worries him.

She’s functional, but her spark is gone, and she has a hunk of metal soldered into an excuse for a ring that she keeps on her right ring finger, a rough patch of steel that’s badly bent out of shape. K2 supposedly helped her make it. 

His eyes catch it, it’s a dog tag, folded and stretched until **CASSIAN ANDOR** is banded around her finger, an added weight to her hand. 

He was so worried about the use of a name, and Jyn drags it along with her everywhere she goes. 

The ring always draws his eyes to her hand, itching for something to do. Bodhi is anxious about the shaky limbs and fidgeting, and Jyn’s whole body has the grace of an unconsciously bouncing leg. His heart breaks for her every day, but there’s something about how she has stalled from her next step, remained so for months that makes him panicked. 

“He’s not coming back,” he hisses to Chirrut, who shakes his head. He raises a single finger to his lips. They were both alive on Jedha. Bodhi never said the name, but another thing ghosts did was always take a dare. 

 

J.

People stop having faces after a while. It’s hard to look them in the eyes, hard to see them. She stares at Bodhi’s mouth when he talks to her, and lip-reads through the fog in her head that makes it hard to hear sometimes. 

Jyn is private about grief, her usually bluntness shields from the knife in her gut that keeps twisting. She plucks at herself like an unraveling thread, anxious, not sure how to act when she’s not a widow and not just a comrade to him, and he’s missed, and he’s gone, and she is left behind with not much to hold out to people to say he was hers. He’s not there with his words to assert so. 

Her connection to her life has become a small and intimate practice. Sometimes her fingers will fall to the skin of her face, stroking the fragility of the plain of her skull above her brow, the pulse against her eyelid, the seam of bone under her temple. Little places, where she didn’t think to knowingly touch him. 

She can't look at these features in others, it makes her too sad. Touch is solid. Touch is concrete. Bodhi lets her trail her fingers up the bridge of his nose, across his lips, over his eyelids. Her eyes are closed. She just feels them. 

She knows that it is real under her hands.

She still wakes some morning, holding her breath, waiting for the roughness of his jawline to descend upon her skin.

It never comes.

Jyn still waits for it. She stretches thinner and thinner until she snaps and has to drag herself out of bed. 

Maybe she will stumble out of this with some kind of recognition of herself again, someday. 

 

B.

He shouldn’t have spoken of him. 

He called him back. 

He knows it’s his own eyes that see Cassian Andor weave through the crowd, trailing after Jyn. He knows what he is seeing. 

He doesn’t think Jyn will see him too, may not even feel Cassian reach out and twist the ends of her hair, falling from her bun, around his fingers. That to her it will just be the stirrings of a breeze, or an odd pull that you flinch against but never find the source of. 

Bodhi thinks he summoned Cassian back, and that only he can see him. He feels relieved, for Jyn’s sake, that she is blind to him lingering. Feels ready to just let the spirit follow her to the ends of the galaxy, as he was half-convinced Cassian was already doing.

But when Jyn turns around and her face goes white, Bodhi sees that she can see Cassian too. 

 

J.

Maybe she should have known that loving a spy would lead her to this. She loved a soldier, she knew that, but soldiers had ID tags and trackers and places they were known to be. 

A spy captain was not meant to be found when he died.

There was nothing for her to see, no proof. He had been gone for months before they finally broke the news to her, privately. He would never return to her. 

They told her to shut her up, she put in more requests for an estimate on his return than they could process into the records. 

There’s a hand on the edge of her scarf, thumb and forefinger on either side of the material swirling clockwise to assess the feel of it. She almost barks that it’s not for sale, but when she turns, she sees a dead man’s face. 

She’s thought of seeing that face again many times. That it would greet here when her demons caught up. That she would sizzle in the crater of an explosion, and he could curl her into his arms and lift her out of it. 

She did not picture that face greeting hers in the stalls of a crowded bazaar, where she waited for Bodhi to talk down one of his friends from his piloting days, to see what information he could squeeze out of him. 

A clone, perhaps. It’s possible, not that anyone needed to use a fake Cassian Andor for anything more than her heart. 

And what weapon was her broken heart anymore. 

She stares up at him for too long. She can’t read an expression in those eyes, just that they’re watching her.

His face is grim, and his eyes follow her when she turns in a panic and slips into an alley, leaving the cluttered street behind. She hopes he’ll dissipate into thin air, or that she’s just seeing things. 

Instead, he follows until they’re alone. She was the one going forward, but once they’re in a tunnel of windowless brick she can’t help but think that he was the one who led them to this. 

She can’t look behind her. It.  _ It  _ smells like him. If she sees the collection of parts that make up his face, she may choke. May, under her eyes, make them decay, make it real again.

He approaches, places one palm at her neck and the other at her belly, pulling her up against him. 

Lowers his face to her cheek. Scratches his stubble along her skin. 

The  _ scritch scritch  _ almost makes her knees give out.

The smell of him; slightly smoky. She trembles, pressing herself further against the wall, arching her back. Begging to be crushed against the brick. 

It’s not a clone. It is Cassian. Or something that  _ was _ Cassian. He lets her fall forward against the wall in front of her, barely catching herself on her arms as he bends her forward. 

She can’t speak, but leans her furrowed brow against the brick. 

Her legs are pushed open. He drags himself back and forth against her clothed ass, heavy handfuls grip her hips, she can feel he’s hard and he wants her, rocking back and forth. His hands are greedy in the acts of missing. Shivers rack down her spine.

Her hands shake when she opens her belt for him, consenting to her trousers being pushed around her knees, the ease of him pressed against her back, rubbing his hardness against her. The last few months begin to evaporate and he’s still alive, he never was dead, and she doesn’t know why she can’t breathe, Cassian is inside her and for some reason he is so cold. 

She doesn’t feel anything when he fucks her; it’s all heartbeat and gasping and her pulse flooding her ears. Doesn’t even feel him breathe. 

His hands are so cold. 

Somehow it does not feel like the rushed encounter that it is. Not like a use of her body. Instead, it feels like an inventory, a careful check, one he made thousands of in his lifetime. It was his nature to line her up against him, his chest to her back, and fit them back together to see if it was all in working order. She submitted to the check because she felt unsure as he seemed. 

And then it verified that it is all working. So they keep at it.

It does not leave her mind that this may not even be happening. That its a dream, or the market around her blew up in dust.

Maybe she isn’t really there, maybe she’s really in the crater of an explosion and he’s reaching down to pull her out.

Maybe she should have known that loving a spy would lead her to this. 

 

C.

She’s so much more responsive than he can manage to be, her hand clasping his and pressing to the brick. She lets him wash over her like she did in sleepless nights upon his expected return; anxious and waiting, half-awake, until he joined her in bed and aligned their bodies to remind her he was home and he was alive. 

_ “You can’t let anyone see you.” _

There is no offered explanation, of why he was told this, but there has never been an explanation to anything that he was ordered. 

“I’m good at that,” he answered, which is an affirmation, and not an untruth; the exact way he has been taught to lie.

He still can’t fuck Jyn with her looking at him, so maybe he’s taken the order closer to heart than he expected. 

 

B.

He’s breathless when he finds her. It’s too late; her hair’s a mess, her clothes pulled from their careful folds and tucks. She wobbles on coltish legs. 

He catches her by the elbows. Wants to apologize for the glaze in her eyes, the wet pink of her lips. Maybe it’s his fault. She’s shaking. 

“I can’t tell you” she says, her eyes even and convinced, but unfocused. “You wouldn’t believe me. Cas-”

“Don’t say his name,” Bodhi blurts out, terror choking him. 

As if there was more they needed to call him back for. Jyn looks up at him, dazed. 

“I don’t want him spiriting you away.”

Numb, Jyn’s eyes fall somewhere far away. Like light passing through the cracks in a pane of glass. She couldn’t believe it was true, this explanation, that this was some work of the force, of Cassian’s unfinished business, made more sense. 

If he was alive, he’d be back to her for real, not for a glimpse and a quick fuck in an alley. 

Bodhi prays it’s something that’s been scared out of her, that it’s gotten what it wanted, its terror, and it will now leave them all alone. 

His gut tells him otherwise.


	2. Chapter 2

B.

Jyn is possessed.

Bodhi is sure of it.

Baze and Chirrut wave him off, insist to let her grieve. She doesn’t tell them about her tumble in an alley, but Bodhi informs them he saw Cassian in a market, as did Jyn, and they are noncommittal in their responses.

“Sometimes we see impossible things, but it doesn’t make them unreal,” Baze muses.

“Tell me when you have something really impossible. Like _me_ seeing him,” Chirrut asserts, returning to his tea. He offered some to Bodhi, a remnant from home, but tea in a ship kitchen tastes like piss.

“She’s calling him back. We could lose her.”

Chirrut shrugs, smiling. “Sometimes there are explanations for things that are crazier than the ones we can come up with on our own.”

“Or so reasonable they seem crazy,” Baze says, his face grave as he notes Jyn’s exit from the ‘fresher before she notices the little concerned conference over her well-being, which she would hate.

Jyn took an extra-long shower and said nothing of that day. But she has to be possessed.

It’s the first night in months where she hasn’t woken up Bodhi in the middle of the night with her crying.

 

J.

It becomes a part of her life. Not every day. But something to be made note of.

Cassian shows up. The idea of it would have saved her months of grief, that he wasn’t really gone. But coming back, it’s its own conflict of grief.

There are rules, but only in this is what hasn’t happened yet.

He has never come for her on base.

It’s only on other planets.

It’s always when she’s alone.

He’s never spoken.

But he touches her.

The first time she excused the etiquette of it, because was there even a social rule in the galaxy that was made for this kind of thing?

She makes up fake explanations for these rules. That he comes as often as what wouldn’t be noticed. That he can’t tell her, because he’d only speak of death. That there would be too many other people and their memories on base, it would be harder to find her.

The next few times -and there are more, which astounds her- it’s the same act of cornering her and pressing his lips to hers. It’s a kiss like he still misses her, even though she’s right there.

She’s in an archive library researching a lead, hair in an elaborate bun of a student in the Imperial Academy, unrecognizable to the point even K2 has done a double take or two. But then he plunks himself on the seat beside her, leans down to pretend to examine her datapad and sweetly kiss her cheek, running his nose from under her chin to the back of her ear.

She can’t breathe. A shudder racks through her, a sob, and he smoothes a strand of loose hair out of her face. It never took long to escape her braids. He’s just there, at her side. It has to be real. She’s praying to the force that it is real.

She can’t even look at him, like she’s made her own rule. It hurts too much to look.

With him, she was half of something. A whole person, but there was another person to rest her weight on, combine efforts with, live alongside with the respect she gave curling back inside her from him.

He leans closer, pressing his brow to her temple. She knows he feels it too. She wipes tears out of her eyes, trying not to cause a scene. No one is looking at them. She must really be alone. She can enjoy his closeness, trying not to think of the moment when he pulls away.

This is more than so many other halves got. To feel it again. Closeness.

And just as this begins to feel real, to feel normal, he’s gone.

He watches her eat half a meal by herself, in a crummy little restaurant on Coruscant, in silence.

She leans across the table and brushes her thumbs over his knuckles. He looks up at her, loaded, and walks away with a look like he’s holding himself back from telling her something. Angry at himself. Angry at the whole galaxy.

He finds her in an inn on Naboo, alone in a rented bed, and presses her into the mattress as she traces his face with her fingertips in the darkness. He kisses her palm, draws it to his cheek, nuzzling.

_Scritch scritch._

It’s become the one communication they have, besides the moment she feels filled again, arching her back.

He’s gone into the darkness too quickly, like he only had a few minutes to steal away. She supposed this is incredibly Cassian, he was effortless in vanishing when he was alive. She supposed it came with the territory of being a spy.

She supposed she deserved this life for loving one, as well.  

Jyn feels resentment bite in her throat in the wake of the relief. One wide shot from a Stormtrooper blaster nearly takes her head off, but an hand sharply pulls her by the elbow out of the way. And the man who did it vanishes back into the crowd, expertly.

Jyn honestly felt resentment for him protecting her life, because the cruelty of it meant they wouldn’t be together.

She lies awake at night instead of sleeping. She tries to think of how it’s possible. She sort of knew, when there was no body, she would always feel this way. There was nothing to bury, so instead, Cassian would float.

Bodhi saw him too. That changed everything.

_Bodhi can see him too._

 

B.

They’re on a bridge to somewhere, he and Jyn, and they’re arguing.

“You’re awfully tense,” she hedges.

He glances over his shoulder for the hundredth time. She rolls her eyes, sweeping an arm over the clear path behind them like she’s unveiling a magic trick.

“I swear, we’re being followed,” he insists, but his paranoia has not been a problem since Cassian, but since bor gullet.

Despite practically being his sister in forged blood, his patience with her is thin when she quietly says “You know Cassian hasn’t shown up on this mission, so that’s probably coming soon.”

“Jyn, don’t say his name.”

She stops, her feet squeaking on the mossy wood. “Why not?”

Bodhi jogs ahead, glancing behind them, like he’s going to fly out of the black stone cavern.

“You can’t.”

“Yes, I can,” she grips the rope, glaring at him. Her nostrils flare.

He shakes his head.

“On Jedha, it’s how you bring them back.”

Bodhi eyes are frantic. Jyn misunderstands.

“So he’s back because I called him?”

He shakes his head. “This isn’t _good_ Jyn, it’s not him, he’s not the same person…”

His feet meet soft soil. He’s crossed the bridge. Jyn lingers at the center, her head cocked, listening to the roar of the waterfall in the distance.

“Is it strictly bad?” she mused, settling her other hand on the rope, leaning back to take a pensive moment. It’s not the time, but her casual approach to responsibility has been, in all honesty, a relief to see in the past few months. She was raggedly overworking herself after Cassian died.

He’s about the answer, but there’s a crack, and a scream, and Jyn plunges into the rushing water. He doesn’t see her surface before she slips over one of the drops of the falls.

 

C.

Cassian drags her body out of a river. His ears are pulsing because of the dull roar of the waterfall her body almost slipped down.

He wasn’t supposed to be seen this time. But watching her fall had him entering the murky water without so much as a second thought. He floats her back to the edge, arm slung across her chest, her head propped against his shoulder so it’s always the first thing above water. Her cheek is pressed to his. He lets his face remain along the curve of hers, trying to focus on getting her out and not just getting to be close to her again. This time she is as cold as he is.

A few heavy presses against the arc of her ribcage have water bursting from her lips, her face going from white to coughing red. She arches up, alive again, her weak eyes fluttering at him.

He holds his finger in front of her face, and she can hear it, the routine that was always between them when she’d taken a bad hit.

_Look at me. Follow my movements._

His eyes are still on her eyes, watching them move back and forth with his motions.

He almost smiles and pats her back. _You’ll be fine._

Like it was before.

He has the chance to say everything that he never got to. But he says nothing.

 

J.

The mist from the falls only a few dozen yards away cloaks them. She blinks around them; an unreal place. And he’s there. Not speaking. Just staring.

She had begun to think, in grief, that any piece of Cassian would mean everything to her. After receiving an altered one, a different one, she’s not so sure she wants to compromise the one she had.

She casts her eyes down to a swollen and red ankle stretched out before her. It hurts, and that seems a sharp reminder that she is alive. She sighs. Glances up at him.

“Could have sworn I was dead.”

He’s silent. She waits for him to answer. Maybe he can’t.

She sighs, lies back on the bank of the river.

“How’d you find me?”

His thumb strokes the lifeline in her palm. No answer. She supposes he’s found a way to do that now, and it’s all fuzzy and unreal, that bridge gave out like wet paper under her feet after seeming so solid under her last twenty steps. Bodhi had already made it across, made sure it was safe.

She touches the spike of his wet hair, their dark sharpness slicing through the fog around them.

He dips his body down to lie along the length of hers on the moss.

His lips brush against her temple, he spoons behind her on the rock. She intertwines her fingers in his.

Wordlessly, she taps his chin. Asking.

He smiles, lowering his cheek to hers, and the cut of his stubble drags over her skin.

It has to be Cassian. He knows what she likes.

She closes her eyes and whimpers. Her teeth are clattering.

“Where have you been?” she blurts out. She shivers. He can’t blame her, his skin is always cold.

He’s so quiet, she kicks herself for forgetting he can’t even speak.

Until he does;

“I can’t tell you that.”

She sits up, spooked, but he’s drawing away.

“Why don’t you leave me alone?”

He shakes his head.

“I can’t do that.”

Jyn walks onto her palms, her fingertips stinging from the rough surface of the rock. Her gloved palms fare better. She crawls forward. “What do you mean?”

The mist gives him the perfect place to vanish, and the height of the falls make it impossible to blindly search. As does the injured ankle. She hears Bodhi’s panicked calling, it takes longer than it should for her to answer him, informing him she’s alive.

 

B.

He helps her up, an arm over his shoulders to help her limp back to the location of their pick-up. A comm link crackles with shoddy reception as he informs the dispatch of the shape Jyn’s in; woozy, discombobulated, limping. Her eyes flicker in every spot something pierces through the fog, and he can hear her rushed breathing.

“He was here,” she insists.

“Maybe you hit your head,” he says, because she’s so close to saying it, it’s on the tip of her tongue, and he needs her to silence his name.

“Bodhi, you have to believe me.”

He looks at her, his face all eyes like it usually is.

“Jyn, you’re bleeding.”

She clearly wasn’t aware of this. Her fingers find her brow, and it did come away with blood. That must have explained the reflex check with Cassian when he found her.

“How is it bad?” she demands, her nostrils flaring with her own Jyn-Erso-Rage. Bodhi swallows, waving down the scouts in the distance, hoping to lead them back to the ship.

“He’ll try to take you with him, eventually.”

Her face told him that didn’t sound so awful, but he found it progress enough that she didn’t say it out loud like she would have months ago.

It was like they re-entered the real world once the fog cleared. Maybe it was her head. Maybe they were both imagining it.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author’s note; I get a lot of speculation and requests for clarification in the comments. The only response to “Is he dead?” Or “What is even happening?” at this point can only be answered on my part by “I know, right?” and that IS intentional)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, especially after this chapter, pay special attention to the end note I posted.

C.

Things were sharper when Cassian Andor was alive. He clings to those memories:

Sometimes she had the patience to understand his line of work. Jyn would make up fake missions, explaining to him she knew all about the revolt in the Spice Mines he had instigated, and pop open the fly of his pants as she spoke, welcome him home with first the words and then the feeling of her mouth with a dry amusement in her eye. 

But there was also a cloying fear that he would never come back that she could never understand, and sometimes she acted on it. 

“How long.”

He shook his head as he zipped his bag. 

“I can’t answer that.”

“Then where? Give me something to work with in case something happens to you.”

She had gotten out of bed when his alarm sounded. Most missions he tried to keep her under the covers when he said goodbye, letting a layer of sleep ease her back into the world that he was not a part of. 

“You know I can’t tell you.”

But this was a time where that didn’t work, and she pulled a sweater on over her sleeping clothes and paced and worried. 

“I have a terrible feeling,” she said, clutching her kyber crystal in her fist. “You know you can tell me anything.”

He tried to make it light, because it would be a long time, and in a terrible place, but it was madness to hand that weight to her. 

“I’m a spy, Jyn. You always knew what I was.”

“And you told me I’m different,” she mumbled, wounded, and he knew her flaring distrust sometimes wove alongside his own. They usually coexisted peacefully, but sometimes conflicted. And the conflict was over things they both needed, so they never resolved easily, just untangled and kept going. 

“There are always going to be things I can’t tell you,” he murmured before leaving. He stroked her hair off of her forehead. Kissed the worry gathering at her brow.

He could deal with all that when he came back. 

 

J.

Jyn is called into a meeting. A private one. 

She’s wondering if it’s about her inability to properly care for her gear; which Cassian had once been forced to call her in to explain to her, but that meeting just ended in both of them laughing and him kissing her cheek, pleading for her to just pick up her crap every once in awhile. 

She mostly did without him asking, or he just gave up and did it for her. 

This meeting is with Draven, so she’s confident the tone will not be as light. 

Mon Mothma is also there, her face drawn and grave. They both look very afraid of her and what she can do, which makes the light nerves in her stomach radiate into panic. There are clearly two different ideas for why she was there. 

They tell her to be seated. She has been chastised before. It was usually done while standing.

"General."

Mon Mothma looks at her pleadingly, and after looking at the expression on Draven’s face, for a brief moment, Jyn realises Mothma is there for  _ her _ protection. 

“What did I do?” she asks, because the rebellion is now really all she has. And it’s not like there’s anywhere else to go if she loses that.

The General paces, stopping short right above where she sits. 

“I don’t know what you think you saw,” Draven leans close. “But you didn’t.”

“What did I see, then?” she challenges, staring at the floor, gripping the arms of her chair. 

“Nothing,” Draven’s nostrils flare. 

Jyn knows, faintly, she is playing with fire, but after everything she’s done, there’s very little to lose;

“How exactly did Cassian Andor die?”

Mon Mothma lets out a silencing cry when Draven moves; he lifts Jyn by the arms with a violent shake and then drops her back down into her seat. 

“Don’t touch her,” Mothma commands, but her control on the situation seems tenuous and even Jyn avoids knocking out Draven because this doesn’t seem like something she can fight her way out of. She scrambles back into the seat, her arms and ass already feeling bruised. She stares up at him, waiting for him to strike. 

And then he paces away, an attack dog called down. Jyn has already flinched away, drawing her knees to her chest in a protective defense. 

“Sergeant Erso,” Mon Mothma says pitifully. Jyn never sought out this attention. Never asked Cassian to return. Mothma seems to understand that she wanted this just as much as the rebellion did. And this was very bad for the both of them. “You didn’t see anything, correct?”

The instruction is clear; _you have no choice but to comply with what we're saying._

Draven looks down at her like a crushed bug. 

Jyn takes a hateful breath, staring him down. 

They thought she was crazy. They needed her to prove she was capable of suppressing it.

“No. I didn’t see anything.”

The General looks at her like he wants to spit. 

“Cassian Andor is dead.”

She nods. It's the truth. But it will never feel real.

 

B.

She ambushes Bodhi in his room, her face flushed red and angry. He wakes up to it, his head already foggy and full of worry. His dreams are restless, and sometimes terrifying. Cassian has a lot to say in them. And he's there for Jyn, they all know it, one of these visits he's going to take her away. 

“Did you report me?” she half-screams, fury shaking her whole body. He gapes up at her from his bed, too surprised to figure out how to sit up.

Jyn is agitated in a way he's never seen in her. Her hair is frizzed, falling out of it's bun. 

“What?”

“You told them what I saw, and now they think I’m crazy.”

"Who?"

"Draven. Mothma. They called me into a meeting about Cassian. Except I'm not even supposed to talk about it."

“Jyn, I didn’t-”

“I can’t believe you,” she paces, her back turned to him.

“Jyn, you’re not thinking straight.”

“I am not crazy,” she snaps at him, and the volume of her declaration seems to undermine the point behind it. She closes her mouth, breathing heavily through her nose. 

Boshi tries to find the words, but she’s terrifying to him. And when he finds them, she doesn’t let him speak. She vanishes, like she was never even there. 

 

C.

He sees her whenever he closes his eyes. 

But it’s not enough, so he finds her so his hands can prove what his eyes seek. 

The ring was such an obvious marker, he’s surprised she hasn’t chucked it into the sea. It makes it too easy to find her. It's a piece of him with her at all times. 

He knows she has to resent him for taking it all out of her hands. 

But maybe, someday, she’ll thank him for that too. 

 

J.

She is sent away on a secret mission. A handmaiden for a big house in Naboo. This will entail a lot of dresses and looking unassuming. She did not have the placid nature, the eerie calm, expected of a handmaiden up until now. Mothma seems eager to have her off base. 

She does not say goodbye to Bodhi. He still shows up in the hangar bay to do so. 

She ignores him. His betrayal still stings. She's not crazy. He saw Cassian too.

Jyn hasn’t felt like herself in a long time, and she thought once that Cassian’s return would start to bring that back. Even when it was impossible. His face had joined the ranks of her mother and father, wistfully calling to her, watching her.

As she washes personal linens with a sour expression of her face, she starts to be far enough away from her old self to evaluate the distance. When she helps with the lady of the house get dressed every morning. When she walks into town to deliver personal letters between the lady of the house and some man on Coruscant. She is far enough away to see the changes in herself. And those changes are a solemn face and tired eyes. 

There’s a houseguest, a pinch-faced admiral’s wife, who watches all of Jyn’s movements seemingly without rest. Jyn hopes she isn't too disappointed by her acting like the most unassuming maid on the planet. More than once Jyn has bumped into her wandering the servant’s quarters, and when she returned to her tiny room, her belongings had been rummaged through (everything of value was on base, and there wasn’t much to begin with). Chirrut took her kyber crystal when it couldn’t join her on missions. There was nothing to steal or incriminate. 

Jyn has become less and less, fading into a murky cloud, and adapts herself to the environment she’s in. 

Sort of like Cassian.

Cassian is deciding when these meeting happen, and it’s not like actually seeing him again. She’s not herself seeing him, that is. She feels more like the ghost than he does. She just lies there while he moves over her like the tide. She was never that kind of person with him. She fought back. 

And now he comes and goes as he pleases, and she can’t go to him, and she doesn’t have a choice, and it’s all so helpless she wants to murder him all over again. 

So when she senses he’s following on her walk home, she slows her pace and finds a clearing. It’s sunny, and open, unlike every other place they’d met. But wild, evergreen. 

He has to let her see his approach, and he doesn’t look happy about it. 

“You’re starting to become too expected,” she said, her sleeves billowing around her clenched fists. He goes to her, takes her face in his hands. Kisses pleadingly, like she’s precious, and her fists shove into his chest. 

She’s not lying back for this again. 

“When can I find you, for when I feel like it?” she growls, pressing him onto his back on the ground. His hand rises up and idly strokes the back of her thigh, and he just looks up at her. 

He’s so beautiful, but while the novelty of his returns is starting to wear off, and the pain is far from that ever happening. 

She presses down on his sternum.

“I know you can talk.”

He shakes his head, the grassing under his skull flattening with his pressure. 

He’s there, and he’s splayed out before her, and she can look at him. Arousal spirals through her. This is the feeling she wanted to come back. Not to be pressed against a wall and taken. She lifts his head, notching his chin over her shoulder, nuzzling into the  _ scritch scritch _ of his facial hair, it burns at her neck and shoulder and she arches her spine in response. He holds her, compliant.

Her face is painted white and she can't afford to go back to the house with it smeared, it would get her into too much trouble. She dodges a kiss. 

"Don't ruin my cosmetics," she snaps, and it's odd to have agency in this kind of haunting interaction. Ghosts aren't usually there to take orders, or react. He usually arrived to wash over her and as the one being haunted, she assumed her job was to just let him communicate what he wanted to. 

He rests his forehead against her chest, obedient. She pulls him back by the hair. 

“What do you want from me?”

He shakes his head again.  “If you keep asking questions, I have to leave.”

Jyn growls, shoving him back down. He takes her violence with a quiet calm. 

She raises her long, heavy skirt up around her hips, and crawls forward. 

“Then use that mouth for something else,” she threatens, but his lips are already excitedly pressed to her thigh, mouthing above the stockings she hates but has to wear. Her knee digs into the earth near his head. 

He catches her hands when she bucks against his eager mouth, and his thumb rubs against the ring finger of her left hand, where she wears the half-melted dog tag twisted into a relic. Even her cover has the story of being a widow, no one examines the cheap-looking ring closely enough to give it much thought. The metal slides against her skin as he nudges it. She pulls her hand away, but he’s making good work of her frustrated, longing body, and she melts over him. He leaves her panting on the grass, ripping up handfuls of it. In the time it takes to catch her breath, he’s gone.

The laundrette is not happy over the state of her uniform, and she gets a slap for it and docked her insignificant pay. Her story is that she fell. 

The admiral’s wife watches her with a coy smile as she passes on her way back to her room. There’s something smug there that terrifies Jyn. 

 

B.

With Jyn gone, Bodhi breaks into the records one night. With his Imperial Skill Set, he is a bit anxious at the fact he can get in. He may even report the hack once he’s fulfilled his purpose. 

There has to be something about the death. It was announced. Jyn was informed. 

There had to be a place where the body dropped and he breathed last, and Bodhi was going to find it. 

CASSIAN ANDOR: marked ‘deceased’. 

It’s murky, terrifying, his death has felt so unreal but they all had to stick with what they were told for Jyn’s best interest. The story never seemed to add up. Baze and Chirrut and him all exchanged glances over the details, but the worst thing they could do was try and reopen old wounds by asking questions. He was a spy. He was the first of them to be lost when a mission went wrong.

There was no explanation to how he died.

But there was a red dot near one of the files, the ones tracking his vitals. Bodhi had done that on Rogue One missions to make sure all posted members of the team were still alive and they could wait at the ship until they made it back. When that dot disappeared, he had been trained to fly out of there. 

There are still vitals being tracked by the rebellion for Captain Cassian Andor. Vital signs. Blood pressure. Breathing. Heartbeat.

The body that they are attached to had all of those things that Cassian Andor should not.

Bodhi takes a shaky breath and selects a strange marking in the corner of the screen. 

The name isn’t Cassian’s, but the face is. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I will only clarify one thing: if there was an issue of mistaken identity that would mean that Jyn is being raped by someone who is not actually the real Cassian, this shit would be tagged appropriately. And based on the tags, clearly, that's not what I'm going for. I'm not going to make the twist be rape. That's not how I write, and with how horrifying an ending that would be, I'd assume most of you think better of me that I would at least tag it, let alone leave that out of the story. But I got a comment about it, so this is me assuring you. There's something weird going on, but at the risk of ruining all suspense, that's not the ending. Consent is important. The ambiguity in the story, to me, was what built the fear, but if I have to destroy all tension in this moment in order to assure someone that they're making the wrong conclusions about what kind of writer I am, well, here we are. There's still a twist. And I can't say much else, but it's a lot better than Jyn unwittingly having sex with a total stranger. 
> 
> Other than that, hope you enjoy this weird, spooky clusterfuck.


	4. Chapter 4

C.

He always had a way of saying things to make them feel true. 

Jyn was the first person to ever tell him out loud that he was lying. 

He never had people trust him  _ too much _ ; that was the delicate line he never crossed. He toyed with it. ‘You shouldn’t trust me, but you have to’. It kept things honest enough to make him leave without too much of a shadow. Jyn saw right through that.

“I invest my trust in you, I want it given back,” she threatened, to the point of walking out the door, and he pressed his hands to her spine and his hips flush to hers and pleaded  _ I’m trying Jyn, I want it to be you. _

“I’ll be back soon.”

She knew it was a lie, but he could make it sound true.

 

J.

They’re in a thin tent, veiled rocks digging into their sides, not even talking. Her leg is around his hip, their mouths brushing instead of kissing. There are full tents of potential witnesses all around where she’s camped. 

She doesn’t even get surprised anymore. It’s like they’re both coming home from work to the same place. Maybe not every night, or even once a week. But it’s the almost-married kind of regard, ‘welcome home’ that has her wordlessly roll towards him in her pack, snuggling against him in the cold, his hands seeking her skin, some kind of contact. 

“This isn’t an exit,” she tells him, trembling when his hand slides to her lower back. “And if we just let this happen, you’re never going to leave.”

She falls back, he rolls on top of her, claiming her. The material of her tent is so thin she can look up and see the light of the stars over this desert planet, they might as well be out in the open. 

He shakes his head, his lips under her jaw. 

“I’m not strong enough to let you go.”

 

B.

It was their first mission as Rogue One in a long time. Minus one. 

Jyn goes to bed early, but Bodhi is now always suspicious of her solitude. He keeps watch, with Chirrut for company, if not help. Everyone else is also. The fire is dead. Jyn’s tent is shaking. 

Bodhi holds his breath. Chirrut asks what troubles him. 

“She’s just so deep in grief.”

The monk smiles mildly. 

“Jyn’s not dead yet, we can say her name.”

They both fall silent, as Bodhi is not sure he can convince his companion of the level of concern he has. She’s paranoid. She’s losing weight, strung along from his visits, always looking over her shoulder. 

Bodhi would take Cassian away to give her herself back, if he knew how.

He takes a deep breath, and sees the movement out of the corner of his eye:

Chirrut is very silent, and very still, but the dark outline of the former Captain Andor makes no sound. He leaves Jyn’s tent. It’s so quiet they can hear her breathing, so slowly it must be in sleep. Bodhi’s throat closes in fear as he passes the monk. Maybe not for Chirrut, maybe for himself, and the things only he and Jyn can see. 

Chirrut nods his head as Cassian passes. 

“It’s good to see you, old friend.”

Bodhi can’t move. Can’t breathe. 

Cassian hears. Cassian looks back. 

The blind one can see him. 

 

J.

She takes a cover as a maid in an Imperial Officer’s household. She cringes at the planet she’s stationed on; Gamorr. They have...complicated relationships with how they treat the staff of a household on those planets, and often they make up a strange currency between powerful men. The pinches to her buttocks administered by visitors and the members of the family she cleans up after makes her grit her teeth and remind herself of what she’s fighting for. 

It turns out to be perfect for when a familiar face arrives in an officer’s uniform. 

She’s leaving a dinner party with a basket of dirty napkins she’ll have to wash, and he follows her out into the hall. She almost doesn’t realize it’s him, because she’s had to lock her doors to many such pursuits. All for the rebellion. 

She’s supposed to be invisible.

But so is he, and he’s wearing an Imperial uniform. 

Jyn doesn’t like it that he can order his way in, not when he has all these secrets, not when she can’t say no if she actually wanted to.

She follows him down the hallway under his indication that he knows where he’s going. With folded hands, trying not to trip on the long skirt of her horrible uniform. She has to feign delicacy for this work, when her usual movements would shred this oppressive garment. 

“Celena?”

Her fake name. She pivots on her heel, Cassian dips into the shadows. 

The mistress of the house practically walks on her tiptoes, it’s some kind of fashion here. 

“Where are you going.”

Jyn holds out her basket. “Napkins, Ma’am.”

Jyn doesn’t learn to use anyone’s name outside of what she’s supposed to call them. The rebellion knows who she means. 

She receives a cold smile in return.

“I’ve read up on your previous households. You lost your last position for sneaking around with a man. You wouldn’t be doing that again, now would you?”

“No ma’am.” 

Jyn feigns surprise, and the panic isn’t the punishment she’ll get for disobeying, but that snippet of information. Because her cover as a maid has gone uncompromised, the Alliance has been sending her out as Celena to keep from getting her caught in multiple lies. 

But Celena was caught with a man…

She scans backwards. 

“I’m very good friends with your mistress on Naboo, and she found you in the woods in a most compromising position…

Jyn keeps her face blank, her eyes dumb, even a little frightened because a simple girl stealing time with a lover would behave accordingly. 

“So we won’t have that problem again, will we?”

She nods. The less is said, the better, because she’s in two places, she’s in the hallway with Cassian hiding in the shadows, and she’s back on Naboo, with him under her thighs, with someone hiding behind the trees. At least this time she knows of the third party. 

She thinks of that former mistress’s smug smile. It starts to make sense. It wasn’t suspicion in rebellion, but mere gossip. 

She could see Cassian too, and to her, Cassian was merely a man. 

She keeps the basket in her hands until she is left alone. She breezes past Cassian and launders the napkins in the kitchen. She takes her time to get back to her room, where she’s sure he’ll be waiting. Tries to find logic in this. There is none. 

There’s an open window in the hall, looking out on the trees in the courtyard. They bloom pink flowers, but in the moonlight they look blue. She closes her eyes and breathes their scent. They smell that was because they are alive. They leave a hint as evidence they exist.

He walks up behind her. Curves a hand along her hip. 

She turns towards him, letting him catch her wrist and guide her to her room. She readies herself as he closes the door behind him, dropping to sit on the edge of her bed. Stares up at him. Searches. 

He looks a much older man than the one who died a year ago. She’s not sure she’s happy to see that.

“What are you doing here?” she asks quietly.

He smirks, draws her skirt up over her knees, trying to spread them to step between. She snaps them shut, her face pulling away when he lowers his close to her. 

“We can’t talk,” he reminds her, drawing her chin to face him, but she rips herself free again. “Jyn,  _ please.” _

He catches her slap in his hand, instead of with his cheek as she had intended. He unfurls her fist as she tries to free it. Presses a kiss to her palm. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, and he means it, but it’s not enough.

“It’s cruel to linger around,” she chokes out, grabbing him by the jacket collar, “It’s  _ evil  _ that you can’t stay dead.”

“I’m sorry,” he kneels down in front of her. “I promised I wouldn’t leave you, Jyn. I promised you.”

Cassian pulls closer, for the first time an emotion pulled from those eyes, pleading. 

“Why, Cassian?”

He takes her face in his hands. Makes her look in his eyes. She’d avoided eyes for a long time. It’s so intense to see his emotions there, even when he was fucking her like this it was almost like they couldn’t stand to communicate this whole time. Like it made it too real, too hurtful, and it is at that point she realizes that his eyes can still tell her things; fluid and alive and real things, that she wouldn’t be seeing if he was what she thought he was. 

But as soon as her theory proves true, he senses it too;

“If you ask anymore questions, I have to leave.”

But she’s Jyn, and she’s stubborn, and angry, and hurt; so she sets her jaw and replies “Why?” and has a perverse moment of satisfaction at the anger that flashes in his eyes as he turns to the window and climbs back out into the night. 

“I thought you were dead,” she finally snaps, her hands balled in fists. He hesitates, half out the window. He looks sorry, but it’s not enough.

“I’m not dead,” he starts to drop out of sight, but right before his head vanishes; “But I’m not alive.”

_ Oh, that just solved **everything.** _

He vanishes into silence. 

The window is still open. The scent of those flowers fills the air on a light breeze. She can’t remember what he smelled like. There’s nothing behind of him lingering, no hint that he ever existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spoooooky


	5. Chapter 5

B.

Bodhi sits alone in his bunk, the records he can’t stop looking at pulled on a datapad on his lap. 

He doesn’t sleep much anymore. He just keeps checking, now that there’s evidence.

The tracker on Cassian Andor locates him on Yavin IV.

The trace of him is weak, it always has been, and flickers in and out of notice. Like he lifts in and out of existence. The tracer for his pulse drops dead, the spot on the coordinates vanishes. 

But then returns, closer. Much closer. 

Bodhi flinches when he realizes that it’s on base. Not that he wasn’t afraid before, but that suddenly, inside the walls, it’s real. He’s there, and he’s coming. Cassian never crossed that line before, never appeared on base. At least, to Bodhi’s knowledge. Cassian typically trailed Jyn, but Bodhi’d only been able to trace Cassian’s location for the past few days. 

Now she’s back, and Cassian is here.

Bodhi leaps up when the thought crosses his mind; there is only one place that dead man would go.

 

J.

Jyn twists Cassian’s dog-tag ring around her finger, a strange buzzing in her wrist. She’s back from her last mission, she just wants to lie down. Her feet fall heavy on the steely floor. Her eyes flutter shut, because the hallway is empty at this time of night.

There's a tense feeling in the open air, and it makes her walk faster to her room and shut the door with a little more finality than usual, as though trying to ward something off. It's a childish, paranoid type of fear, one that faith in doors can save you from. She feels silly for a moment and sheds her jacket. 

There’s a thundering knock on the door that nearly makes her cry out. She opens it anyway, and Bodhi rushes in. 

“He’s here.”

She glances behind her, expecting to see something in the shadows, amazed that there may have been a mundanity that dulled her to even noticing. “What?”

“He…” Bodhi has a datapad in his hands and is pacing circles, seeming to try and connect with a coordinate. He pulls up into a pause every time he faces her. 

Finally, he stops circling. 

“You...you’re there.”

Jyn glances behind her again, but it’s just her bed. She drops to her knees to search under it. 

“Wait.”

Jyn crawls back, her eyes widened, like Cassian’s right behind her. 

“Do you have...anything of his…”

Jyn’s fingers grip the ring, made of a soldered, half-melted dog tag. 

“Just one.”

His long lashes flutter in surprise.

“I always thought that the shoddy signal was because  _ he _ was damaged. Then it’s been-”

“It’s tracking  _ my _ location. It’s tracking  _ my _ vitals.”

Bodhi’s lips thin into a terrified line. “I’m sorry, Jyn.”

He expects her to feel as foolish and in pain as he does. But she seems to have worked out something he hasn’t yet, one step ahead of him. 

“No,” she twists the ring on her finger. “If someone wanted to track me, they’d use  _ this. _ ”

 

C.

He avoids base on Yavin IV, but she’s far away from it. Somewhere in the jungle, way outside any perimeter. Nothing good comes from being there, and he finds himself following close when she doesn’t leave that place after two solid days. 

Far away, like she’s trying to be as alone as possible. 

But the distance isn’t what convinces him. 

The monitor senses no pulse. And she’s not moving, which means nobody found her. 

There are silver linings, and then there are coincidences that enable tragic symmetry. He goes to find where her tracker, once his tracker, is stranded and dead. 

He finds her camped there, sitting peacefully on the ground like she’s meditating. There’s a large, intimidating drop-off ten feet from her little camp. 

She holds up a circle of metal. He can see the engravings on it. The ring made from his tags. The lack of pulse was because she took it off.

“It’s how you’ve been finding me, hasn’t it?”

It's like dying all over again, because her figuring it out means it's come to an end.

 

B.

Mon Mothma calls him to a private meeting. 

“How is Sergeant Erso taking the loss?”

Her tone is mild, but her lips are thin and tense. Bodhi just looks at the floor. 

“She’s seen some dangerous things since then,” he doesn’t hide the implication, “And what I’m worried about is if the rebellion is going to offer her any help, or insight, about what she’s seen.”

She nods in response, seeming to expect that.

“Have _you_ seen anything dangerous?”

The pilot can’t hide anymore. 

“Cassian Andor.”

Mothma nods. “Which we’ve established is impossible, because Cassian Andor is dead.”

Bodhi can’t help but roll his eyes. “Exactly. Well, this was helpful-”

“But if Cassian Andor was alive, Cassian Andor would be smart to make sure no one knew it. Which isn’t a problem, because we know Cassian Andor isn’t alive.”

“...yes.”

“Cassian Andor, if alive, would be under constant threat of the Empire because of a compromised mission, which is why Cassian Andor is at this moment, in a very fortunate position to be dead, because that is the only way he can truly be safe.”

Bodhi halts his next remark. Mothma is working to keep his eyes. He nods. She continues. 

“Cassian Andor, if he was still alive, would find it smarter to stay dead. Cassian Andor, if alive, would be best left off with no one trying to prove otherwise, which is not of pressing concern only because Cassian Andor is dead. The only thing the Alliance can give him now is the safety of an honorable, private death. Do you understand?”

Bodhi nods, and feels no need to say more. 

 

J.

“You’re not alive,” Jyn’s eyes are flat, but accepting. They look less broken. Calmer. 

He clears his throat, trying to find something he could tell her that wasn’t a lie. 

“I just kept waiting for you to come back home. But you can’t ever come back home. And that...that makes you dead, Cassian. By my definition, it does.”

She sees him swallow, and ghosts don’t get dry throats. Men who have to say goodbye to their whole lives do. 

“Yes.”

She looks out to the trees, nodding. “I can’t ask what went wrong during that mission that killed you-”

“But I need to be dead now,” he concludes, and she nods again.

“But why didn’t you just say goodbye?”

“Because I tried to only see you once, and...I couldn’t. I needed to pretend we could have a life together. I wasn’t strong enough.”

Jyn nods, tears filling her lower lids. 

“I understand.”

"I'm sorry."

"You should have told me."

“I couldn't. You weren't supposed to know anything. It was for your safety, for my own safety...so you would keep fighting instead of you focusing on fixing my problem. Please Jyn, can you forgive me?”

There was logic there. Maybe she'd propose they run away. She was never the perfect soldier, she might have done so if it meant keeping him.

“I didn’t really have time to grieve you,” she looks down at her lap, “So instead I’ll take the time to learn to do that.”

“I wanted… I wanted more than anything to come home.”

She nods again. “But we both know that’s impossible. And I can’t know where you are, that’s too dangerous, and you stalking me doesn’t make me feel like I can move on, so now we have…” Her hands clench into fists and she looks up at him. “Cassian, what happens when the war is over?”

He sighs. Looks away from her. “That’s why I’m dead. If the Empire is still around...the information they have on me after that mission...there’s no hiding from them while they exist.”

“So this is until it all ends?”

He looks up at the sky.

“I sometimes feel like it never will.”

Jyn chews her lower lip. Can’t blame him for being too tired to think otherwise. 

“If it does, I’m going back home,” she informs him. He takes a quick breath through his nose. “But right now, I have a war to fight, and I can’t anymore, Cassian. I can’t keep waiting for you to come back.”

He steps away, his eyes on the ground. 

“I understand.”

She realizes that this all happened so he didn’t have to die alone, wiped from a Rebellion File. His name never spoken aloud again. It was so someone could say goodbye. 

“Are you afraid?”

She asks it because someone has to. 

He lifts his eyes to hers only briefly before dropping them back down to his folded hands. 

“I’m not afraid of dying, Jyn. I’m just worried that this is all that will have been of me. I want to exist outside of my life, to give my soul somewhere to belong. I want there to be a memory that I existed, that I was here.”

“I have it,” she whispers. “I won’t let it go.”

He nods, and knows he can’t touch her now. 

Jyn stands and lifts her hand, the ring she made centered in her palm. Bodhi had told her objects held their previous lives, and saying a name calls a spirit back, and that they can take over your life. What Bodhi told her was true, in a lot of ways. She called him back with everything in her soul. 

She would not say Cassian’s name until it was time for him to come home.

For this to end and the remembering to begin, she throws the tracker into the depths of the jungle and begins again. She watches Cassian walk away. 

  
  


C.

He doesn’t believe it. Not for the first week. He can’t function during the first week, he keeps watching the skies like Imperial Banners will refill the fireworks and celebrations. It doesn't feel _real._

But now, even if it’s not over; it’s worth it if she doesn’t have to fight anymore. Imperial forces could kick down the door the second he walks in if it means he can see her again after all this time.

He’s guilty to arrive unannounced, but he does knock on her door of the little starter house on Lah’mu. 

And when she answers, she doesn’t seem too surprised to see him come home for good.

And she says it, she says out loud;  _ “Cassian.” _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> LIKE I SAID. WEIRD.


End file.
